A Passage on IndiaOur correspondent reports on an important hockey matchby Michael Bamberger
Red Singh, the old-time scribe with the New Delhi Independent, lifted his fedora to the cloudless sky, mopped his brow and said, "Doesn't look good for the boys." It was eight minutes into yesterday's U.S.-India men's field hockey match at Morris Brown College, and India, mighty India, had yet to score on the underdog Americans.
Singh tore a yellow sheet out of his old Royal, held the page up in the air and yelled, "Copy!" A kid in a beanie ran it to a teletype operator. In Singh's homeland, millions of people awaited news of every pass, steal and shot. In the stands at Morris Brown, there were 4,628 souls.
Wagner gave it his all, but the Americans lost to mighty India 4-0.
photograph by
Sitting in the last row of the stadium was an eight-year-old boy, Billy Bathedinlight, freckle-faced and gap-toothed. A year ago Billy was in a Nebraska hospital bed, his broken left leg elevated, his skin drained of color, the result of a freak accident in a peewee field hockey game and the ensuing viral complications, for which there is no known cure. Steve Wagner, the great American goalkeeper, had heard about Billy's accident and visited him at the hospital. He told Billy that if he ever made it to the Olympics, he would get Billy a ticket to the India game, give him a pin, too. Billy's recovery was nothing short of miraculous. As he watched yesterday's game with his fingers crossed, he continually whispered, "C'mon, Stevie. C'mon Stevie. You can do it. You can do it."
And for a while Stevie was doing it. Then, bam! India broke the ice in the 10th minute of the match. Eighteen minutes later, another India goal. Two-zip, India, and up in the press box Red Singh's fingers were dancing merrily over his Royal.
Halftime came without India's scoring again, but the U.S. remained bageled. Men with cigars gathered by the telephone booths, and one man could be heard to say, "Operator, get me Brooklyn." Another man, his voice fraught with fright, said, "They ain't gonna cover. The margin's too thin, Sammy, too thin!"
At halftime in the U.S. locker room, Father Sunkist performed his customary ritual, handing out orange slices. The youthful American coach, Jon Clark, wore a grim face. His team had already lost its first two games. But India was struggling too. India had lost to Argentina 1-0, drawn with Germany 1-1.
"The pressure's not on us, boys," Clark said. "It's on India, mighty India. If we play our game, if we can score more goals than they do, my god, we can beat them."
Father Sunkist smiled. From the back of the room came a quivering voice and the first, unmistakable notes of America, the Beautiful. First, just a single voice. Later, several more. By "shed His light on thee," the chorus was two dozen strong: the equipment manager, the water boy, even Father Sunkist, off-key but passionate. The players sprinted back onto the scorching field, yelling in unison, "Team! Team! Team! Team!" Anything seemed possible.
On the other side, Cedric D'Souza, India's coach, spoke sternly to his players, the volume all the way up. "If I said it once, I said it a thousand times," the coach intoned. "Don't take these guys lightly, 'cause they'll eat you right up like so much dessert! Danggoneit, we can't be looking ahead to the Pakistan game or thinking about dinner plans or gazing into the stands for our girlfriends." Suddenly his voice turned warm and comforting and very, very quiet. "Fellas, we're India, mighty India. We've got a reputation. Let's show these good folks why." There were nods of agreement and not a few wet eyes.
In the end the second half was much like the first, and the 35 minutes flew by as if in a dream. The Americans could not buy a goal, and the Indians found the net twice more despite Wagner's best efforts. When the game ended, the scoreboard showed the numeric tally—4-0, India—but there was so much the scoreboard did not reveal. Red Singh put a fresh piece of yellow paper in his Royal and started pecking away at an advance for the Pakistan-India match on Friday. The American players nursed their bruises, disappointed, of course, but content in the knowledge that they had given India, mighty India, a scare, a good scare.
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